


Fears of Their Own

by zeeyaa



Category: DreamSMP, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A crossover of sorts between TMA and MCYT, Angst, Canon Divergence, Gen, I just want to talk about fear bro it's a fun writing point imo, Some of the ccs might be avatars or just ppl trying to have a good time and failing, but also Canon Compliant! we're shaking it up a little!, ooh look at that i tagged it ooh i'm a good writer oooh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeeyaa/pseuds/zeeyaa
Summary: A series of chapters diving into the fears each MCYTber encompasses...and the ones they fear the most.Based off of The Magnus Archives podcast.
Kudos: 7





	Fears of Their Own

**Author's Note:**

> Wilbur, on what it's like to light a flame against the cold.

It's cold.

Wilbur wears a beanie, a yellow sweater, long pants, and yet it is always cold. No amount of warm, comfy clothing can stop the chill that catches his breath and hugs his body. He is shivering, teeth chattering. When he plays his guitar, and rarely does he these days, you will notice that his voice is cracking and his rhythm quickening. It sounds as if his heart is controlling the music—it beats with such ferocity that one might suspect it's fiery passion. No, Wilbur's heart beats fast, blood pumping to stave off winter.

He's cold.

He cannot remember when he first felt this way. There was definitely a time when Wilbur did not beat to warm himself. When Wilbur sang tunes with his guitar and could capture the attention and applause of those around him, when his heart beat with passion and a fire that could not burn the things he loved. He was not a desolate man, then, and he believed in all his heart that the small, kind flame he held would never blaze up nor burn out. It kept him warm. More importantly, it kept his friends warm.

Wilbur looks at the flames before him and shivers.

L'Manberg is in ruins. There are fires raging before his eyes. The flag is billowing with smoke and soot is piling on the floor. There are other things piled on the grass: precious items, precious people. The podium where L'Manberg elected its first president is nearly gone—the walls are crumbling by the brick and the wooden planks are spreading the wake of destruction. The throne is completely gone. There's a black, charred spot right in its place.

Wilbur spots Technoblade just across the bay. He cannot read his expression, but he assumes it's one of bitterness and anger. He doesn't know if it's directed towards Wilbur or Tommy or someone else. It matters not to him. Wilbur sees the field of destruction and absolute chaos laid out beneath him, and he feels an all too familiar fire beginning to flare up in his chest.

It didn't matter in the end. None of it did. After all the pain and suffering he had gone through, he had only one choice. He wanted only one choice, and he got it. There was no way Wilbur could back down. He hated losing—he lost a war, he lost an election, he lost his friends, familiy...it was by that time Wilbur had decided he was never going to be the loser in this story. By giving up everything, he had _nothing_ to lose. Standing before the remains of his unfinished symphony, Wilbur is triumphant at last.

The fire is roaring, raging. It's almost uncontrollable at this point—when did it grow so wild? When did he stoke its flames?

"Wil," Phil says behind him. He's standing utterly still, his wings furled on his back. His expression is terrified. "You blew it all up."

Wilbur's heart stops, and for a moment, he fights against a shiver. He instead smiles at Philza. "I did, didn't I?" Wilbur says gently. "It was quite a nice explosion. Eleven stacks of TNT—"

"But why?" Phil asks. "Tommy and Tubbo—the rest of L'Manberg—"

"It doesn't matter anymore!" Wilbur cries, laughing. "It doesn't, Phil! There are no winners in this story, and that's all—that's what makes me a winner. I _won_. Don't you see? L'Manberg doesn't matter anymore. Tommy and Tubbo don't matter anymore. Techno doesn't matter anymore. I say..." Wilbur's heart races, the hairs on his arms standing up. "I say, let it all burn."

Phil's face changes. His eyebrows widen, and his mouth purses into a thin line. His eyes are creased and heavy. Hesitantly, he pulls out a sword made of diamond.

"Yes, go on, then!" Wilbur says gleefully. He steps forward, but when Phil takes a step back defensively, Wilbur reaches out for Phil's hand and positions the sword at his chest. "Kill me, Phil. Kill your good old son! Drive it right through my heart and...and you know what? You better make it _hurt_."

Phil attempts to loosen his grip, but Wilbur holds on tighter. He's burning up. He imagines his cheeks red with warmth. "Come on! Kill me!" Wilbur yells.

Finally, Phil meets Wilbur's gaze. His eyes widen and something like realization flashes across his face. "Oh," he says, terrified. "You're not...you're not burning me at all."

"What?" Wilbur asks, confused. He flicks his eyes down to his grip on Phil, and by extension, the sword, and realizes his hand is steaming. But Wilbur was wrong. It was not warmth after all.

"You're...you're freezing up," Phil tells him, and Wilbur shudders. No, he _shivers_. He shivers because he is cold. The smoke emitting from his hand is so frosty that it burns Wilbur. Suddenly the fire he had been stoking begins to die. His cheeks are flushed, attempting to restore his body heat, but he can't feel his face. His teeth begin to chatter. He's a skeleton.

"i won't kill you," Phil decides, and he finds the strength to pry Wilbur's bony fingers off the sword. He steps back, his hands raised. "Your punishment isn't that easy. You're not going to die like the rest of them."

"N-N-No," Wilbur tries. He wants to move, but he's stuck to his spot, frozen. There is nothing in him now.

"You're getting cold, Wil," Phil says with an air of finality. "Empty."

"I'm not...c-co—" Wilbur huffs. "I'm going to _burn_ —"

"You won't." Phil begins to walk away. "You're not welcome here."

Phil is gone. So are Techno and Tommy and Tubbo. So is the rest of the DreamSMP. So is Wilbur.

Wilbur's only goal was to burn as bright as he could. He was good at it, and he knew how to control it. But he's done now. He's just cold. He has no idea where he is now, not sure of his place in the world. What is he without his fire? His passion, his drive?

"I miss you guys," Wilbur whispers to the fog. He wishes to see them again. He wants a second chance. He knows he doesn't deserve one, but he can't help but hope. Because for all his flaws and all his actions, Wilbur _never_ wants to feel Lonely.


End file.
